


Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

by ThatWildWolf



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 10:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15117188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWildWolf/pseuds/ThatWildWolf
Summary: Ingram lost more than just her legs - her mental stability. Now, she finds herself in a world where it seems everything is against her... An ally can be found in the least likely of places.Character study. One-shot, short.





	Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

**Author's Note:**

> This story is several things: it's about dealing with PTSD, it's basically breaking down a character I really like and trying to show the way a person gets through this kind of shit. It's also spotlighting on a possible friendship/romantic interest between two people who have similar issues. It's not a love story, not really, but it is hurt/comfort.
> 
> Go figure. I wrote something and I don't even know what it is.
> 
> Here goes, my first one-shot on AO3.

It had been a month since the accident and Ingram was learning to walk again.

The cold metal prothesis which replaced both her legs were like a grim reminder of the fact that everything she had ever planned for herself, her whole life, had irreversibly changed forever.

But the disability wasn't the worst part - not the physical one, at least. The things that were going on inside her head were what really scared her. Almost every night, she would relive the same terrible life-altering moment, and when she woke up, screaming and covered in sweat, there was nothing to console her other than the sad, dry fact that she was still alive. Every single explosion, be it even a motor of a generator, caused her to almost hit the ground. Ingram's own brain felt like a minefield - she didn't know what would or wouldn't set off the negative associations, what would trigger the memories, what would cause her to unreasonably break down and cry...

Most people simply didn't understand, so obviously she reverted to the company of the only person who did.

"Nightmares?" Danse would ask if she stumbled into his room in the middle of the night, and she didn't even need to answer the question. Her silence was enough of an answer.

He never asked more than that.

Their relationship was what Ingram could only describe as confusing - the fact that he was almost ten years younger and yet somehow seemed more mature than her only added up to the confusion. There was almost nothing that the two of them shared. But one thing remained that connected them: they had gone through equally traumatic events during a similar time. While they were struggling with the aftermath of their respective trauma, they were doing it together.

Maybe together, they would conquer even their own demons - although that felt unlikely.

Time went by desperately slowly, in Ingram's eyes. Every day seemed to drag on forever, and every day only brought bad things. The prothesis didn't accept - the thing that had saved Star Paladin Cross wouldn't be able to keep _her_ duty-capable. She got a new wheelchair, some non-combat assignment which she hated with her heart, and a lot of pitiful words from everyone. She didn't want their sympathy. She just wanted her body back.

It didn't help that everyone around was doing exceptionally well. Artemis finally got his own squad. Danse got promoted to Knight-Captain. Another recon team got dispatched to the Commonwealth. Paladin Vargas retired for some reason, and that left an empty slot in the commandment chain. So far the Elder hadn't chosen who should fill it, but Ingram was sure of one thing - she would _never_ have the chance to make Paladin anymore.

Why was she still visiting Danse? She didn't know, she wasn't sure. He was still struggling, she could see it during those nights they spent talking when neither of them could fall asleep, but somehow he managed to keep it restrained. She was _so jealous_.

But there was another thing they shared besides their struggle, and it was the love for tinkering. Ingram had thrown the idea of a specialised prothesis before, but it had died after the regular one got rejected by her body. Now, Cross had given her a small push by suggesting to use a power armor frame as a base.

The idea was perfect.

Ingram couldn't, and probably never would be able to, tell how many nights she had spent working on the suit. How many times she had pulled Knight-Captain Danse off duty just to ask him for advice on the project, or to test something out for her. He always did - just as he often came down to the power armor maintenance station in the night to help her work. It was as soothing for him as it was for her, she supposed, but he never really talked while working.

Metal. Grease. Sparks. Paint. Oil. It all became part of her world, part of her mission. Working on this was the only thing that mattered now - the only thing that existed. This suit was her everything, it was her life's work, her _magnum opus_ , her only chance for a more or less normal life.

When it was finished, she didn't know how to react. So many sleepless nights, every day for the last several months... It had all become part of her routine. Suddenly, it was over. Ingram wasn't sure what to feel.

When, for the first time in over a year, she stood on two legs, she cried tears of joy.

Of course, that joy was shorter lived than she had thought, because all of a sudden she was the hot topic of every conversation in the Brotherhood. Elder Maxson promoted her to Proctor, probably because he was feeling bad about not believing in her earlier. She accepted the promotion gratefully. Not Paladin, but the next best thing. Good enough for her. And, of course, Cade desperately wanted to get a look at her suit, help her redesign it to properly work with her medical state... She was reluctant to let someone else tamper with it, but she allowed it.

Ingram was actually rather proud of herself - no one has ever done anything like that, not before the War and certainly not afterwards. Power armor wasn't supposed to be used for medical reasons, it was combat gear. She had to thank Star Paladin Cross for the idea.

Of course, she soon found out that Cross had died. Apparently, she and Paladin Krieg had been killed at Adams Air Force Base, during one of those small aftermath battles with what remained of the Enclave. Two exemplary officers less. The Brotherhood was running low on commandment.

"I just wish Maxson would at least _acknowledge_ it," she growled. This was the first time in two months she had come to Danse for consolation. Bad idea - he was so hung up on Krieg's death that she doubted he would even notice her. She had forgotten Krieg had been Danse's sponsor. Losing him must have been a killing blow to the young Captain.

"We've lost many good officers lately," he said in a tone that was so numb it made Ingram's heart bleed for him. "Two Paladins, a Proctor, and a Star Paladin. I imagine the Elder will run a commandment recruitment spree. Some lower-ranked officers will probably be pulled up. We need Paladins. Squad leaders."

"Well, Captain, maybe you'll qualify," Ingram said, putting a hand on his forearm.

Danse flinched and shook her off. He looked away. "I... really don't think so."

God. He looked like a dead man brought back to life. Probably hadn't been eating or sleeping enough lately - something that Ingram understood well enough. The only thing that drove them apart was the lack of alcohol in Danse's quarters - which, somehow, instead of making her feel bad about herself, caused some relief. While maybe she was having trouble, there was still hope for Knight-Captain Danse. Maybe if she couldn't save herself, she _could_ save him.

"Come on," she said. "Get up."

He looked up at her, absently toying with the wrench he was holding. He had been taking something apart before she came, a method of dealing with anxiety she knew all too well. But she had a far more therapeutic way of channeling his feelings for him.

"Come with me, Captain."

"I haven't slept for six days," he said spitefully, throwing the wrench away. It landed in the corner, making much more noise than Ingram would be comfortable with. "So forgive me if I'm not duty-capable right now."

"Duty?" She tilted her head. "That's not what I was thinking about."

***

  
The feral ghoul's head exploded into a pile of goo when the laser beam from Danse's rifle hit home. It's not like she was keeping score or anything, but Ingram was pleased with the fact that the time that taking down twenty ghouls had taken her had been enough for only twelve for Danse. Not that it was a competition or anything, she was just better.

"How often do you even come down here?"

"More often than you'd think." Ingram reloaded her laser rifle faster than she would have if she were alone. What the hell, was she trying to impress him? A stupid Knight-Captain? There was no point in impressing him.

No. There wasn't. But maybe she was doing this for herself.

"I should have known," he said. "But not going to the subway was clearly specified by every single person I've met in the Capital Wasteland."

The underground tunnels beneath Washington DC had been crawling with ferals for ever, as far as Ingram was aware, and she made use of that fact whenever she had too many emotions piled up inside of her. Shooting at live targets was always more comforting than just going to the range, and it was always a few ghouls less in this world.

She was hardly the only one who came up with that idea. She had stumbled upon Knight Artemis more than once. Paladin Hudson was no stranger to this way of relieving stress. Arthur Maxson used to come down there too, back when he had had the time. Shooting up ferals. Seemed there was one thing that joined all of them.

"We should head back," Danse called out. Ingram looked at him, surprised - he had never been one to back out of a fight. "You're a Proctor, but I still have to report in on the Prydwen in three hours," he explained.

She acknowledged that with a nod of her head. For all the things he was, Danse was a soldier at heart and he would never miss a muster. Ingram found that inspiring, actually. Maybe because she herself had never been quite that dutiful.

They got back to the barracks in relative silence, without waking the Scribes. The officers' quarters were located on a lower deck, but there was no place for every Sergeant and Captain, so they slept up here. Maybe that was for the best? Having him nearby would effectively ensure she never got her sleep.

"...Thank you," Danse said awkwardly. "For showing me that location. I'll keep it in mind next time I..." He shut his eyes. "I just wanted you to know that I appreciate the sentiment."

"We're on the same boat, Captain."

"Yes, ma'am. We are."

Ingram watched him walk away in the direction of his quarters and she had an undeniable feeling she knew this situation all too well.

"And Danse?" She called out.

He froze, and slowly turned around.

"...Yes?" He raised his eyebrows hesitantly, as if expecting some kind of punishment.

"Do get some sleep this time."


End file.
